Comfort and Eventuality
by Jaclyn840
Summary: Everlark. Post-Mockingjay Pre-Epilogue "His arms were there to comfort me. And eventually his lips" Rated M for future content
1. A Visit to Dr Aurelius

"Katniss, you have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder"

Dr Aurelius' monotonous words fly by my ears like a bird whistling through the trees.

"Sorry, I have what?" I reply, more interested in studying the titles of books on his shelves.

"POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER"

His voice echoes around the concrete room, more resembling a prison cell than a Doctor's office. Everything's grey here, even the furniture. Then again, this is District 13, where everything reeks of dull concrete uniformity. I hate this place, and it pains me greatly to be forced into returning for a round of "check-ups" every three months. After shunning Dr Aurelius' attempts at contacting me after the trial, the new republic's bureaucracy had deemed me to be uncooperative in complying with my judicially appointed treatment and sent hovercrafts to pick me up for visits to District 13 - just another inconvenient consequence I had to pay for murdering the future leader of Panem. Deep down inside, I wonder if it's just their method of ensuring I wasn't starting another rebellion.

"Are you listening to me?" He snaps.

"Yea, yea I have PTSD, am I supposed to be surprised?"

"Katniss, this isn't some kind of diagnosis. This is a warning"

He begins to write out the words on a large whiteboard behind him.

POST - Whatever that has happened in the past  
TRAUMATIC - Emotionally Disturbing, causing Psychological Trauma  
STRESS - Adverse Psychological tensions or effects  
DISORDER - This shouldn't be happening to you

The last sentence makes me giggle. Dr Aurelius begins to explain, word by word, everything that I have been experiencing and how to cope. Most of the time I am phased out and on the verge of nodding off until he begins to talk to me about Prim.

"I read your letter, the one about Buttercup coming to see you. Your attempts at driving him off because he reminded you of Prim, and the crying."

I nod slowly.

"You don't get nightmares about your sister anymore do you?"

I shake my head. He's right, before my episode with Buttercup I had vivid nightmares about seeing Prim blown to pieces. They're usually interspersed with scenes of my father's death and I wake up screaming when the explosion happens. Thunderstorms scare me to bits now. Where the nightmares were, now there are dreams: the sight of Prim milking Lady, stirring pots of curdled milk, sorting herbs with my mother. I wake up from these crying, not screaming. Weeping from the knowledge that I'll never feel her warm sleeping body next to mine again.

"You don't have nightmares about her anymore because you've allowed yourself to accept the fact that she's gone. Before going back to District 12, all you did was push the memory of Prim's death deeper and deeper into the recesses of your mind, and that's what caused the nightmares. However, once you've allowed yourself to cry about it and accept it, this moves the traumatic event from your subconscious to your conscious mind. In this way, your subconscious no longer has the power to bring up the nightmares in your sleep"

I look down and bite my lip, trying to absorb that Dr Aurelius is saying to me. The thought of confronting every traumatic event that I've ever seen loses out to the memory of Prim in my mind, and tears begin to form in my eyes.

"How's Peeta?"

"Actually, I just came here to get some medication and lea..."

"How's Peeta?" He repeats, ignoring my plea for a short consultation.

"Why do you want to know?" I start getting defensive.

"Because, his hijacking seems to have contributed greatly to your emotional instability. Hence, how he's coping would have a proportionally beneficial effect on your well-being. Having someone around to talk about the shared trauma of the Hunger Games and the war would also help you with facing the horrors of your past. Also, you're not the only patient I have"

Not the only patient? The thought of Peeta sitting in the very chair I'm sitting in now, telling Dr Aurelius about how much I've hurt him, how better off his life would be if I didn't exist, makes me giddy with heartache.

"I don't really see him" The tears are now threatening to spill from my eyes.

"That can't be true, Haymitch told me he moved into your house"

"He did that just so that a family with four small children could live in his house. There're only twelve houses in the Victor's village and hundreds of refugees"

"...and you don't see people who live in your house?"

"He leaves early in the morning to run the rebuilt bakery, and I'm usually asleep by the time he comes back. The only clue I have of his existence is the warm bread on the table each morning. I have a feeling he's avoiding me"

"So, what happens when you see each other?"

"He usually asks me if I've eaten, offers me bread or cookies, makes comments about the weather. Frankly, I feel like a stranger to him"

"Does he still paint?"

"Yes, but only neutral subjects: sunsets, Delly, bread and fruit"

I pause for a second. He can tell that I have more to say and allows me to continue

"A few weeks ago I took out the garbage and saw torn up bits of a painting he scrapped. I was in it"

Tears begin to stream down my face as I recount to him how I broke down weeping by the doorway when I saw the shredded canvas with bits and pieces of my likeness strewn all over the garbage. The overpowering feeling of helplessness at the thought of losing Peeta permanently to his hijacked memories brought me to my knees and I cried so much Greasy Sae had to come outside in the rain and half-carry my sobbing being back into the house.

Dr Aurelius pauses to think. He retrieves a file marked "PEETA MELLARK - D12" from a grey filing cabinet and begins scribbling in it.

"Was that the only time you saw torn up paintings of yourself in the garbage?"

"No, it happened two more times, and I kept crying and screaming. Greasy Sae doesn't let me take out the garbage anymore"

"What's important is that he's still trying. Peeta has a different sort of trauma from you. He has proven himself to be extraordinarily resilient at dealing with painful memories. But he has an uphill battle to fight in order to get his memories back. Especially those involving you; which is why he paints pictures of you. He doesn't want to see you yet because he's still afraid of not being able to tell what's real from what's not real and hurting you. Painting you could be his way of attempting to bring back the memories of you being the love of his life, without the risk of losing his edge and turning violent"

I wish I had something to hold - a pillow, a mug of hot chocolate, or even Buttercup's frail body. But there's nothing, so I grip the metal armrests of the chair and allow my sobs to subside.

"What must I do to get him back?" I whisper.

"Your presence would help immensely. Somehow I have a feeling that you're avoiding him as much as he's avoiding you. Find reason so that you can be together in a non-threatening manner. Start slow and try not to get all up in his face like the first time you met after his hijacking"

A buzzer sounds and the door opens, signaling the end of our consultation. Dr Aurelius walks me to the hangar. As I board the hovercraft, he gives me a bottle of pills for anxiety and says,

"You've given up enough of yourself being the Mockingjay, don't give up on the only thing you have going for you. I know he isn't going to"


	2. Holding hands

The sun sets just as my hovercraft lands by the meadow. Intriguingly enough, there are other hovercrafts in the meadow as well, along with cameras, soldiers and people from the Capitol. Everyone has gathered to witness the opening of District 12's new Pharmaceutical manufacturing plant. The mayor has erected a stage at the gates of the enormous factory complex and a crowd has gathered to watch President Paylor address the District. I press myself into the crowd, trying to look for a familiar face to talk to. All my days of hunting in solitude has left me disconnected from the going-ons of the rebuilt district. I don't seem to know anyone, but from the curious looks in people's eyes, they're wondering what I'm doing here.

Then I see him.

I could recognize his blonde ashy hair and broad shoulders anywhere. My hands reach for his shoulder. He turns to look at me with piercing blue eyes, and smiles. As I take my position in the crowd next to him he tells me about the reopening and the people who will run the factory. None of the names ring a bell, although I do hear him say that they unsuccessfully tried to coax my mother into coming back. I listen intently, searching for a look of hope in his eyes, anything to tell me that he's getting better, but there is none. It's as if the spark that used to line his beautiful electric blue eyes with the hope of a better tomorrow; has now faded into the coolness of the night. Plutarch appears onstage and stands in front of the podium, flanked by another woman who looks strikingly familiar.

"Effie sure looks different" Peeta mutters under his breath, his voice empty and monotonous.

"Oh! That's Effie!" I exclaim excitedly. He doesn't share my sentiments.

Effie looks completely changed, with her wig and makeup gone. We finally see her for who she really is: a beautiful lady with pale skin and blonde hair. From the distance I can see that the hollowness in her eyes remain, even as Plutarch begins to introduce her as District 12's new communications liaison to the Republic. My only wish is that Haymitch would be around to see her, but he's probably drunk at home. Just as the thought of smashed bottles and vomit on the floor filters out of my brain, Haymitch appears by the side of the Factory gates and walks up onstage; wearing a suit and with his hair combed neatly, looking smart and tidy. His steady gait could only mean that he's perfectly sober. He takes a seat next to Effie and rests a hand on her knee. She leans over and talks to him, but I can't hear what they're saying. Plutarch somehow manages to notice me and Peeta in the crowd and motions for us to come onstage. We shake our heads; simultaneously declining his invitation, content to just be part of the crowd this time.

President Paylor's face appears on a large screen and she begins to congratulate District 12 for its fine display of resilience in rebuilding after the war. Charts and data about economic outputs begin to appear on the screen and she tells us about the importance of building diversified Districts. There's also a list of key appointments announced but it flashes by quickly. Somewhere in the names I see mine and Peeta's, but it's marked next to the word "honorary" which means we won't have to do anything. Finally, President Paylor ends with closing remarks about the Factory being part of a larger reconstruction effort in heralding a new era for post-war Panem; beginning with the end of food rationing and the implementation of a subsidized free market for essential necessities. A gift from the republic will be made to the people of District 12 in recognition of their efforts towards building the Factory.

The cameras take their position. Plutarch and the new District Mayor each take a pair of scissors and cut a ribbon; signifying the commencement of Factory operations. As the gates open, soldiers appear on stage carrying parcels of food to distribute to the District. The crowd cheers and begins to push, knocking Peeta and me forward. I hear him shouting something at me but his words are lost in the din of people cheering. Someone steps on my foot, and I stumble momentarily. As I stand up again, my eyes drift from person to person, looking for Peeta, but he is nowhere to be seen. Panic starts to take hold of me as I'm jostled around in the crowd's mad rush for free food. My sanity begins to unravel, and vivid imaginations of being swallowed alive by a horde of monkeys mutts cloud my vision.

Amidst the mess and confusion, I feel the steady grasp of Peeta's hand taking hold of mine, bringing me back to reality. It fills me with calmness, and I don't ever want him to let go.


	3. Cupcake

Like salmon swimming upstream we push through the crowd in the opposite direction, eager to get away from all the pomp and propaganda that served only to remind us of the war we left behind. Peeta's grip tightens around my hand, and before long we manage to navigate ourselves through the horde of cheering people and into the open. We squat behind the crowd, hands on our knees; panting from the exhaustion. Beads of perspiration begin to drip from Peeta's forehead, and something tells me that it wasn't just a crowd he was fighting back against. Somewhere within the deep recesses of Peeta's mind, the memory of his near-death experience from monkey mutts must have made a resurgence.

"You sure looked like you were in a hurry to get out" I comment, after catching my breath.

"Sorry for yanking you around, I felt like I was going to get…strangled"

I feel the calming touch of his hands again as he helps back me on my feet and our eyes meet when he holds me by my shoulders. In that very moment I see a long forgotten look of love flash across eyes; right before a pair of soldiers appear and we are pried apart.

"Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. You are requested to be at the opening dinner organized by the new Mayor of District 12"

"We don't want to go" Our voices reply in unison.

"Your presence is required by President Paylor. She apologizes for such short notice"

"President Paylor is coming?" I ask.

"No, but she specifically requested the two of you to be there. Plutarch has ordered us to ensure that you'd come" The soldier tears off two sheets of paper from a log book containing our names along with details of the dinner and hands it to us.

"Please be informed that your attendance will be…taken" She curtly finishes before marching off.

"That's strange" I say. "Why would Paylor demand that we go? We used to get invites to these events all the time, Effie would have made all the arrangements for us"

The thought of being punished with a jail cell or worse for not complying with such trivial orders make me sick with resentment at her sudden intrusion into my quiet post-war life. She probably even timed my return from Dr Aurelius' consultation precisely when the event was about to occur so that I had no chance of avoiding it.

"I think I know why. They need us around to lend an air of legitimacy to the new government" Peeta comments.

That's it, even with the war over, the leaders still need me to be some kind of poster child for the rebuilding of the new republic. The Mockingjay hasn't died with the rebellion.

"Think of it as a link between war and peace. People still need something to hope for. The image of you looking alive and better than ever gives them hope that they can rebuild their lives"

"But why would they need you?" I quiz Peeta.

"We're both needed, our lives have become inextricably tied to the war and its subsequent victory now; and besides, I baked the cakes"

"You knew about this?"

"Yes, but trust me. I had no intention of going. Until these two goons showed up"

I look down at the slip of paper, which looks more like a delivery invoice than an invitation to a dinner. Peeta crumples his up and flings it into a ditch, choosing to look at mine instead. The event is to be held at the rebuilt Justice building in 45 minutes. There isn't a dress code, so Peeta and I begin walking to the building in whatever dressed down clothes we happen to be wearing. Thankfully, no one seems to have dressed up for the event, more resembling a somber funeral gathering than a celebratory dinner. Effie; clad in a pale grey blouse and black pants, greets us nonchalantly with a clipboard while scribbling furiously. She doesn't even look up at us as we approach the steps.

_No more big, big days. Boring Fashion. Scribbling in place of enthusiastic greetings. The Capitol really took everything away from her. _

Effie leads us up the stairs and into the rebuilt banquet hall. Frankly, my breath is not taken away at the sight of the new décor. Austerity and plainness appear to be the theme for Panem's new dark age of architecture and interior design. Even the old Justice building had more charm with its crumbling façade and moss-ridden columns. A slight churning develops in my stomach as the smells of food begin to enter my nose; and I realize that I haven't eaten anything other than grainy District 13 porridge the whole day. But before I manage to make a beeline to the Roasted Turkey sitting amidst a splendid display of food, Effie pulls me by the elbow.

"Katniss! You ought to pay your respects to the hosts who have invited you"

Well, at least she hasn't forgotten about manners, I thought. Effie brings us to Plutarch, who is busy ordering around camera crews to capture as much of the banquet and its guests as possible. He shakes our hands limply and I struggle to force a smile at my captor for the evening.

"Hello Katniss, Hello Peeta, so nice of you to make it this evening. Please, let's conduct a short piece for the rest of Panem to see that you're well and the two of you will be rid of my presence for the rest of this evening"

The cameras take their position and Effie holds up a small screen with words scrolling down. I feel my hand slip into the comforting grasp of Peeta's as he begins reading.

"We are honored to be here at the Victory dinner celebrating the opening of District 12's new Pharmaceutical Factory. Many lives were lost during the war to infection and disease and it is our hope that this Factory will serve as a symbol of Panem's resilience in heralding a new era of peace and long lives for all"

Peeta lets go of my hand the moment the cameras stop recording. The crew packs up and leaves the hall. As quickly as we were the hope of Panem, we are now left alone. Once again, everything feels like a show. Like the memory of Peeta's hollow voice after the first Hunger games and the thoughts of me trying to cling onto whatever little it was inside him that vaguely hinted that he genuinely still cared.

I head over to the banquet table and begin stacking a plate with food while Peeta inspects the cakes that he prepared for the occasion. Effie introduces a few people to me, but it is hard to shake hands and make polite comments when my mouth is stuffed full of food. Just as I'm about to finish my meal, Haymitch; carrying a bottle of beer, comes over and plonks himself on a chair next to mine.

"How're you enjoying the festivities tonight sweetheart?"

The stench of alcohol on his breath turns me off my meal and I put down my cutlery. It's amazing how quickly he can turn from a smart and well-dressed gentleman into an inebriated fool.

"Glad to see you didn't remain sober too long" I comment sarcastically

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice in not coming, might as well make the most of the…refreshments" He replies, holding up his drink.

"You were forced to come too?"

"Yes, I was. Or rather, I had to ensure that you and lover boy showed up"

"Well, it looks like you didn't even try"

"It didn't take much. All I did was tell Peeta about the factory reopening and baking some cakes. Once I was sure he'd come, getting you here wouldn't require any effort. You two have a tendency to…find each other"

He pauses to take a swig from the bottle.

"The two of them seem to be getting along rather well"

He raises an unsteady finger and points at Peeta across the room, who is listening to Delly animatedly telling him something funny. It must be funny, because he's laughing and smiling like I've never seen when he's with me; after the war at least. A pang of jealousy rises up within me. I start thinking about how Dr. Aurelius used her smiles and cheerful laughter in trying to bring him back. Suddenly I am filled with an irresistible urge to go home and tear up Peeta's painting of Delly hanging in his room; maybe cast it into the fire for good measure. The thoughts of me back in District 13 telling him, out of spite; how Gale was a good kisser, begins to resurface. Once again I am reminded about how much of a possessive hypocrite I really am.

"I best be going now. It looks like I've done my job in getting you two here" He rises from his chair and starts for the exit, right before leaning over and whispering in my ears

"It looks like you have a lot of…catching up to do"

My eyes follow Haymitch as a bartender unsuccessfully tries to stop him from taking a crate of beer from behind the counter. He stops by the doorway to bid farewell to Effie with a kiss on her unmade-up cheek and whispers something in her ear, following which she flashes a look in my direction. A sigh of relief involuntarily escapes my lips when I see that Delly has moved on and is now chatting eagerly to Thom.

Out of nowhere, I feel a hand touching mine: rough, callused and lined with scars that could only have come from me. My eyes meet Peeta's as I turn in my chair to face him. In his other outstretched palm sits a cupcake, frosted green with pretty pink and purple speckles grouped together in clumps. Thoughts of Delly and her laughter begin to resurface.

"Why don't you take your damned cupcake and offer it to Delly?" I hiss, flicking his hand away.

Almost immediately I regret the words that have escaped my lips. The look in his eyes change from hopeful expectation to sorrow. He's probably going to smash his Primrose cupcake in my face, try to strangle me and get dragged away by soldiers while screaming about mutts; and he would be entirely justified in doing so. A part of me actually wishes he would; at least it would assuage some of the guilt at my uncalled-for comment. The muscles in my face tense up in anticipation for the first blow.

_Not exactly Haymitch's idea of catching up. _

"Wow, it sure takes way less to set you off than it does for me" He replies with a little hesitation.

My lips arch to force a scowl, but the manner in which he made that comment makes me chuckle instead. A clear hearted laugh that rings out from within my soul into the banquet hall. I haven't laughed at all since returning, save for small giggles at watching Greasy Sae's granddaughter play with string, or the sight of Buttercup curling up in odd places. This is the first time my heart genuinely smiles from the inside. I squint at the floral pattern and the flower's name begins to form in my mind: Primrose. Peeta doesn't wait for me to accept his cupcake, and he places it on my plate. Amidst the strewn chicken bones, grease and half-eaten beans sits a perfectly pretty cupcake decorated with Primroses. Like a rainbow after the thunderstorm, a sign that there was still a beautiful life left to live beyond the war. I hesitate for a moment before reaching out to examine the cupcake in further detail. The detail with which Peeta has frosted every individual Primrose and combed over the green icing to resemble waves of grass; is breathtaking to say the least.

"They're meant for eating you know?" He comments, watching me admire his creation.

It almost pains me to put my tongue to the icing. My demolition of Peeta's masterpiece is rewarded by a blissfully sweet taste that spreads out across my tongue. The frostings each have their own individual flavors, there's even a hint of lemon from the yellow centers of the Primroses that he dotted in with his skillful hands. A genuine look of pleasure begins to spread across my face as my mouth fills with the aftertaste of mint from the grassy green frosting, and my jaw floods with saliva.

"So, marks out of ten?"

"It's delicious, Peeta" I reply, trying to keep the awe and wonder out of my voice.

I'm still in amazement at the frosting, and how he managed to put so much detail into what must have been a hundred cupcakes for the night's banquet. I wander over to the dinner spread, looking for another Primrose cupcake to feast my eyes and lips upon; but instead I'm confronted with rows of neatly lined plain pink frosted cupcakes and dark slices of Gateaux. My eyes turn to Peeta; the apologetic look in his eyes and the tiny cardboard box by his side tell me a heart-stopping tale that brings tears to my eyes.

_I made that one just for you. _


	4. A Dance and a Hug

"Would you like to dance?"

My lips curl to form a "No", right before I feel the warmth of his hand on mine again. His touch is too convincing to refuse, and I find myself unable to resist the charm of being kissed on my knuckles. He looks at my hand intensely, studying the ridges that my bones make on the skin; before looking deeply into my eyes, as though he is expecting to find someone else on the other end of my arm. I look over at the other people swaying to the slow music, the proximity of their bodies; the way their eyes lock as though they were hidden away in their own little secret world, and tell myself.

_I want that, most of all with you. _

"Do you think you're ready?" I ask

"Yes" He replies with a little hesitation. "We can try"

He rises and takes me by the hand to the open area between the dinner tables. As I take a step forward and my boots make a thump onto the wooden dance floor, he freezes at the edge. Peeta looks over at the people dancing intimately. I look at the blood drain from his face and see the reality of what he's about to undertake with me begin to sink in.

"Wait, Katniss…"

"Peeta?"

"If you see me with my eyes closed tightly, or if I start holding you way too tight, get out of here. Understand?" He warns.

"Wow…ok"

_Maybe this isn't such a good idea. _

My fears begin to melt away beneath the shadowy gaze of his deep, blue eyes as he grasps one of my hands with his and fits the other around my hips. I look away, trying to hide the very apparent blush that rises across my cheeks. Somewhere in the corner of the room, Effie is covering her mouth with a clipboard and speaking to an attendant, her gaze fixed on us the whole time. It must be about us; since the lights begin to dim and the music takes on a slower, more romantic melody – all within minutes of us going onto the dance floor. Peeta closes his eyes and inhales deeply and my body instinctively begins to flinch – but the grip of his hands remain soft and tender, so I allow myself to linger within his grasp. He opens his eyes and smiles at me

"We've done this before haven't we?"

"Dancing?"

"Yes, we were in the Capitol. During the Victory Tour"

"The Capitol" He pronounces the syllables slowly and deliberately, each one filled with the reminiscence of pain.

"Yes" I allow him to continue searching through and deciphering the fuzzy scramble of his memories.

"It was just like this" He continues "Dark and with the softest whispers of music. We were close, so close. I was angry about the Capitol citizens wasting food, and you wanted me to stay quiet"

I look away and the tears of joy begin to form in my eyes. He's remembering! Peeta leans closer and touches his lips to my ears.

"…and I was whispering in your ears until he came over and pulled you away" he cocks his head at Plutarch with a scowl on his lips.

"No, it's not like that, Peeta"

"Then how was it like?" He mutters into my ears, the fury rising within his voice

I try explaining to him that he didn't mind, that Plutarch only wanted to drop hints about the Arena and his true allegiance to me. In the end, Peeta believes me, but only grudgingly. Then I remember the words he said to me on the way home from the Capitol.

_My nightmares are usually about losing you. I'm ok once I realize you're here. _

"Are you afraid of losing me?" I ask boldly

He looks down and nods silently.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"I don't want to hurt you. I've come so close to losing you all this while. To the games, to Gale, to the war. How could I go on living if, after all this, I lose you because of myself?"

"Peeta, we can't go on living like this, living in the same house and being complete strangers to each other"

"Maybe you could start by telling me your favorite color"

A pure beaming smile of elation leaps from my heart onto my face. This time, I don't look away. I want him to know how happy he makes me feel.

"You remember? That moment on the tracks before we reached District 11?"

He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"No. Just bits and pieces. I tend to remember the way things made me feel rather than the happenings of entire events"

"And how did that moment make you feel?"

"It felt…real. Like I had gotten to know you for the first time, without any charades about being in love. Do you still like the color green?"

I look up at his eyes and smile. "Yes, although I'm starting to find blue rather compelling as well"

_This would be a good time for you to pull me in for a kiss_

But he doesn't, choosing instead to twirl me around. It feels awkward twirling in boots and pants rather than a dress, and I wobble on my last step. Peeta catches me just as I'm about to fall and pulls me into a tight embrace. As my face presses into his chest and I take in the heady smell of his skin, I feel my entire body melt away into the comfort and safety of his arms, along with the last of my apprehensions about being this close to him.


	5. A very real nightmare

"I have a feeling that we're being watched"

Peeta's soft whispers into the side of my head are lost in the tangle of hair that his lips have made. That – and the fact that I am so hopelessly lost in his embrace it wouldn't have mattered if he had shouted in my ear.

"Sorry, we're being what?" I reply

He moves his lips down along my temples and presses them against my ears gently.

"They're watching us, Katniss; and I don't like it one bit" His voice begins to tremble.

I discreetly take a peek around the banquet hall at the sight of every pair of eyes in the room fixed on us. My mind begins to conjure up vivid imaginations of Capitol Prison cells; sterile and white apart from speckles of blood that line the floor. Peeta being surrounded by guards, scientists and possibly even Snow himself: all of them watching, tweaking his tortures, and having hushed discussions about venom dosages and what to play on the screen next. I shake the thoughts from my head and whisper back into his chest.

"Maybe we should get out of here then"

I don't want this moment to end, being wrapped up so tightly in his embrace that our bodies feel like one. But the tremble in his voice hints to me that he's beginning to lose his edge.

"Can we? Everyone's watching" He asks

"Peeta, I don't really care. Can you see Effie? I can't seem to find her"

"She's by the third window in the corner watching us. How about Plutarch?"

"I saw him leave for the washroom. That should cover all of them, we can split and they won't know who to follow"

"I'll pretend to take the leftover cakes out through the kitchen and you can use the entrance. Watch for Plutarch, he could be back any minute. I'll meet you at the bakery."

With the gentlest of pecks on my forehead we swivel our heels away from each other and leave in opposite directions. My boots and pants give incredible swiftness to a hasty banquet exit that heels never could; and within seconds I am flying down staircases and out of the Justice building. To my amazement, the trucks have arrived outside the factory gates and the workers have begun unloading supplies. There are even lights on in the factory windows and smoke rising from the chimneys. _This new republic sure doesn't waste time rebuilding,_ I think to myself.

Peeta wasted no time rebuilding his old bakery either – now a single floor store occupying a tiny plot of land in the middle of a long line of similar units. I run my fingers along the poured concrete pillars and wooden doors, taking in the leftover smells of bread and cake from the day's business, before sitting down on the steps. The memories begin to come back to me now, this time from his position by the doors. As I look out into the distance at the place I sat by the old apple tree, my mind begins to wander about how he must have felt about a little girl from the Seam with what must have been hollowed-eyes and a gaunt expression that spoke of untold hopelessness stemming from her never-ending hunger. The Bakery must have been a magnet for Seam kids begging for food, and I deserved no better. But there was a goodness in him, beyond any notion of polite pity or random benevolence, that saw me through that day, and I can never stop owing him for that moment no matter how hard I try.

Just as alarm bells start ringing in my head about Peeta taking this long to make his way here, he appears out from behind a bin, carrying an empty catering tray. I immediately jump to my feet and fly down the steps. He drops the tray onto the floor with a clang and run back into the comfort of his arms; gripping the edges of his jacket and trying to absorb as much of his scent into my being as possible. I tip my head up and look into his eyes for signs that our little reunion hasn't startled him too much.

"Hello there, Katniss. I missed you" He smiles at me

_I missed you too. _My lips mouth out the words, but nothing comes out. Something deep inside is holding me back from expressing what I truly feel. The fear of being hurt by the monster inside him still lingers.

"What happened to the cakes?" I ask instead, pointing at the empty catering tray lying on the floor.

"Oh stuff the cakes! Who cares?" He replies, pulling me back into a tight hug.

At this point, I should be worried about whatever's left in my lungs being squeezed out with the immense strength of Peeta's embrace. But then again, he's already taken my breath away with that first hug at the dance, so there's not really much else left to take. He slides the tray beneath the bakery doors and we begin our slow stroll home. Our pace contrasts greatly with the quick-march to the Justice Building earlier. There seems to be an unspoken desire between us to make this night last longer than it should, as if the chemistry that came with all the hugging tonight somehow has an expiry date and we'll be back to ignoring each other tomorrow.

"Were you really upset at Delly talking to me?"

I nod silently, trying to suppress the guilt at my little outburst I had earlier.

"You get jealous easily don't you?" He asks, as we cross the square by the meadow.

"It's not that. Delly is a beautiful girl and all she's ever done was make you smile. I just thought that you would've liked someone who didn't remind you of everything we've been through"

"Katniss, I don't think I'm very good at remembering either" He says with a smirk.

"I'm afraid of losing you too. It just came out the wrong way at that particular moment, and for that I'm sorry. Don't forget, I'm the fire girl…"

My words trail off into nothingness when I realize that I've been talking to thin air. Peeta has stopped walking next to me for about a dozen steps. I look behind to see him standing behind me with all the blood drained from his face.

"This is where they buried the bodies didn't they?" He whispers, looking down.

I look at the brick-lined floors beneath my feet and the voices begin swimming back to me: Madge asking me to play the piano with her, Mr Mellark offering me cookies, even the mellowed bleating of Lady makes an appearance. I retrace my steps back to him and tug at his arm firmly.

"Let's go" I whisper back

"You can hear the voices too?" He says

"I don't want to. Please, let's go"

We leave the square and he begins to relax again. There is silence between us until we reach the Victor's village, by then the moon has risen and it illuminates the streets in a beautiful pale glow. We come across a familiar figure lying near our doorway. The crate of beer and the stench of alcohol betrays his identity even before we reach him, but I turn his body over just to make sure.

"Oh come on Haymitch! You couldn't last another ten feet to your house?" I exclaim upon seeing his disheveled hair and reddened cheeks.

Peeta begins to giggle, and so do I. Haymitch is completely wasted, and has already begun snoring himself away. A quick check in the crate of beer confirms that he had been drinking on his way home.

"We'd better be gentle, don't want him to wake up and start punching us" Peeta suggests

I carry the beer to Haymitch's doorstep and return to help Peeta move our drunken neighbor back to his home. After about half an hour of half-dragging and half-shoving Haymitch around, we finally manage to deposit him on the couch.

It's only a few steps to the door of my house. But it feels like an eternity with all the wordless thoughts of what's going to happen to our future lying there unspoken between us.

"I had a good time tonight" Peeta says, the fear gone from his voice.

His words tug on my heartstrings, and I hesitate on my mine; pretending to fumble for my keys while thinking of what to say next.

"Would you like to come in for a drink?" I ask, not knowing what to reply him with.

"Katniss, you do know that I live here too right?" He chuckles

I giggle at the sudden realization that I've forgotten, and we enter our home together for the first time in months. Just as I chuck my keys on the dining table, Peeta pulls me to face him and holds me by the elbows.

"You didn't really just invite me into your house without knowing I lived here right?" He asks

"I…I…forgot" I stammer, trying not to reveal too much about how I really just want to be with him a little longer.

"No you didn't" He says, pulling me closer to him.

My lips parts unhesitatingly to receive what has long been overdue from him tonight. His lips are soft, way softer than what I remember them to be. It leaves me reeling from pleasure and when he pulls away from me, my hands bunch around his shirt to prevent myself from falling over.

"If there's one thing I remember, this is it" he whispers, tipping my chin back up and touching his lips ever so softly to mine.

There's something different about the way he kisses me now: an utter lack of urgency, the feeling of realness, of something hard-fought and won, and it leaves me wanting more. I stand on the tips of my toes and hold on to his face with the palms of my hands, pressing my lips firmly back into his with an expression of desire that I've never shown before. He staggers backwards in surprise at my sudden pounce. Due to the way his prosthetic leg bends, Peeta falls over backwards and yanks me down with him. My head lands on his chest and I waste no time in clambering up to his lips for another kiss. More urgent this time, as though our lips have been kept starving with desire the entire night. Peeta pulls my hips flush against his, and I can feel his hands starting to roam across my body. As I begin to take off my jacket, he doesn't even wait for me to finish and yanks it off me.

We kiss again, the delicate softness from before lost in an urgency of passion. He begins to run his lips down along my neck, eliciting a loud, almost involuntary moan from the pit of my stomach. I press my face into his hair as he whispers into my ears

"I've waited for this moment a long time, Katniss"

I feel his hands venture up my ribs before they begin to caress my breasts. It sends an incredibly potent wave of pleasure across my entire body, such uncontrollable arousal is awakened that it causes me to bite hard into his neck. He yelps and throws me from his body in pain. I've barely begun to register the pain of landing hard on my back when his face appears above mine. The ferocious growls that escape his lips, the vacant look in his eyes, and the very fact that I am trapped beneath his body tells me that it won't be long now before I am going to die.

"Peeta, I'm sorry" I whimper helplessly.

"SHUT UP!" He roars, sending flecks of saliva toward my face.

It's over now. They're going to call my mother and she's going to become a shell of a woman who has lost everything. I can only hope that he will do it quick: a quick stab through my heart with a kitchen knife would beat him strangling me or smashing my face in and leaving me to choke to death on my own blood.

"Peeta, please…" I plead one more time.

"I SAID SHUT UP!" he shouts.

He yanks me upwards by my blouse and slams me hard against the kitchen floor. My head bounces off the wood with a sickening thud, and my blouse is torn from his nails. I barely recover from the shock of my head hitting the floor to see his fist rising high in the air, and I instinctively shift my head to the side just in time to dodge it going into the wood with a violent crunch.

But as quickly as his fist goes into the floorboards, he is gone – flying up the stairs and slamming his door shut.

And I am alone once again.


	6. The Comfort of Our Hands

I awaken with a loud gasp that empties my lungs of every trace of air. It was Snow this time, blood pouring from his mouth and the ensuing flood of disgusting-smelling red liquid with rose petals floating everywhere threatened to drown me as I was swept away. As my eyes adjust to the room's darkness and my pants of fear begin to subside, I make out the clock sitting in the corner of the room; it is not yet dawn.

Another shadowy figure in the room startles me.

_Peeta_

"What are you doing here?" I gasp in a mix of fear and surprise.

He doesn't move.

"What are you doing here? GET OUT!" I exclaim, clutching the blanket to my breasts.

"Katniss, I heard you…" He whispers softly.

"GET OUT!" I scream again, picking up my pillow and flinging it at his body.

It serves no purpose, bouncing off his body harmlessly and landing on the floor. He takes a step forward and I cower away into the corner of my bed, eyes frozen in fear at the sight of his half-naked body approaching me.

"You're really afraid of me now aren't you?" He says.

"YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!" I shout.

"Look, I'm…"

"I hate you" I whisper softly under my breath.

I had hoped he didn't hear it. But he did. It pains me to no end saying it and the tears begin to form in my eyes; but most of all – I had meant it for myself.

_That's right, I hate myself for loving you. For putting myself within your grasp and risking my life. For hoping that you and I could ever be together and live a normal life in peace. I hate myself because I still do. _

"Katniss, could you please tie up your hair?"

The question takes me by surprise. In the dim moonlight that filters through my curtains, I can just about make out my own reflection in the dressing table mirror. My hair drapes across my shoulders in a dishevelled mess. Black, like the fur that lines the muttations he imagines me to be. He picks up a chair and sits in front of my bed, eyes shut tightly and fixed away from me. I can't decide if he's unwilling to see me naked or if the sight of my messy hair would send him over the edge again. It's impossible to tie my hair with one hand, while the other clutches at what little modesty I have in front of him.

"I…I…can't" I whimper, voice still quivering in fear

"Could I help you?" He suggests.

Every fibre of my body screams out _NO_ in a co-ordinated instinct of self-preservation. I shouldn't even be here in the same room with this monster, naked and defenceless. But there's nothing I can do, so I turn my back towards him.

"Go ahead, but no peeking" I mutter

I shut my eyes tightly as the familiar feeling of getting killed any moment sends adrenaline through my veins. This time I'm not in some arena or battlefield, but in the very unlikely comfort of my own bed. I can hear him opening the drawers on my dressing table one by one, looking for a hairbrush.

"Second drawer on the left" I whisper

He finds what he's looking for, and the sound of the chair moving behind me makes my heart pound. I wince in fear as I feel his fingers slide across my bare shoulders; but the movement of his hands tell me that his eyes are still shut, and I begin to relax. He pulls my hair into a ponytail and begins brushing it gently, with a softness that even my own hands do not possess. It's amazing how he knows the right twists and turns to put my hair into a braid. The last time I had my hair tied for me was just before I put an arrow through Coin. The thoughts of Prim's death begin to come back, and tears start brimming around my eyes.

"Been awhile since someone did your hair huh?" He says, reading my thoughts.

Every now and then, I feel the soft touches of his fingertips on my back, which adds desire to the mess of emotions I am experiencing now - Fear, pain and sorrow. But in the middle of them all one feeling shines through: hope. In a matter of moments, he's done. He rests a hand on my shoulder; the firm grasp sends a shock of fear through my body, and I immediately flick it away in distress.

"You're still afraid of me aren't you?" He sighs

He doesn't even wait for an answer. The chair scrapes. He stands up to leave. Tears spill from my eyes, and I find myself calling out to him.

"Peeta…"

The feeling of my bed sinking beneath his weight is the only reply I get to my pathetic plea for company. I don't know why, but I need someone here with me in this moment of confusion; and he's everything I have left. It feels strangely comforting to lean my back against his, and to feel the steady, gentle beat of his heart.

"I'm sorry…" We both start after an eternity of silence

"…for biting you" I continue

"…for trying to kill you" He finishes

"Thanks for not doing it" I reply, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"I hope I didn't hurt you too much"

"I've gone through worse"

He chuckles. My pulse begins to slow down.

"You ready to see me?" I suggest

"Maybe"

He stands from the bed and I turn to face him, still clutching the sheets around my body. My eyes have adjusted to the dimness in the room, and for the first time since returning, I see Peeta's body. The regular nourishment and physical labour has left his body looking more desirable than what I remembered: his arms have filled out and his chest is taut against the muscles beneath it, no doubt an aftereffect of lifting flour. The way the moonlight dances across his abdominal muscles leaves a stirring within me; I want to touch him. More than that, I want him to touch me. I need it as intensely as I need his presence here with me. Soon, all my other emotions begin fading away one by one, until all that is left is the immediacy of my desire and my hope at what is going to happen next.

I tuck the braid over my shoulder and he opens his eyes.

"Hello there beautiful" He quips, and I let out a sigh of relief that he hasn't freaked out at his creation, which can only mean that he did a good job.

"It's not yet dawn" I say, rolling over in bed away from him. It's an invitation, no doubt. But more of a passive one rather than an outright request – the knowledge that I'm not going to stop him if he slips in here with me.

And when he does, I don't.

I shouldn't be inviting him into my bed like this, as naked and vulnerable as I am. My conscience begins to prick me about the immorality of it all, but the feeling of his arms around my waist and the sensation of his skin on my back melts everything away into one big mental exclamation point about how good it feels. His hands immediately begin roaming across my body, exploring my waist and thighs.

"You're naked aren't you?" He whispers in my ears, satisfied that he hasn't found a shred of clothing on my body.

"Mmhmm" I mutter back against his breath, my hips pressing back into his.

"You smell good" He whispers, taking deep sniffs against my hair and neck.

Nothing that I ever say now could do justice to the curiosity that has begun to stir up within me. I want to touch him, badly. So I turn to face him, and as my fingers begin to trace the muscular lines that grace his body, he kisses me. It fills me with burning pleasure, even more intense and poignant than before despite the softness of it all. I hold back from displaying my overeager passion this time, out of the fear that being too urgent would unleash a caged beast which I have neither the strength nor the courage to fight. It's difficult though, every inch of my being wants to pounce him and to feel the heat of his desire inside me. But after a minute of feeling the soft kisses that his lips bring to mine, I slowly come to realize that taking it slow might not be so bad after all. My lips begin to seek out the place where I've bitten him.

"No biting tonight Katniss" He warns.

I place the softest of kisses; merely a graze of my lips to his wound, which has already been scabbed over. He doesn't react, so I venture further and begin licking it, causing him to wince in pain and his fists to bunch the sheets up into tight balls.

"Stay with me" I plead

I lick him again, kissing away the little bits of saliva that my tongue has left behind. His hands loosen and he begins to relax. He kisses me again, this time I can feel just the tiniest hints of desire in his lips.

"That was hot" He whispers

"Can you trust me now?"

"We can try, just take it slowly…and again, no biting"

His lips find their way to my neck, and it takes enormous amounts of willpower not to pin him down and sate my lust with his body. Instead, I just lie back and allow him to assume a leading position over my body; and to feel the very potent pleasure that his lips burning across my neck bring. His fingers are on the move too – this time along my waist. I supress my urge to squeal at the ticklish feeling, but soon they reach my ribs, and my heart begins to pound in anticipation at where he's headed. Rib by rib he moves, inching his fingertips ever so slowly to my breasts, until at long last he stops; and whispers into my ears.

"Katniss, we need to talk"

My eyes open to see that he isn't joking. I forcibly try to pull his lips back to their blissful position against my neck, but he easily resists my feeble attempts without a struggle.

"Seriously, Peeta? Now?" I exclaim, my body frustrated and yearning for his touch.

"I need to know if you meant what you said earlier" He whispers

"Hm?"

"About hating me"

"If you don't continue what you're doing right now, you're going to get a lot more hate coming your way" I say, balling my right hand into a fist and tapping him lightly on the chest.

"Tell me" He says, catching my hand in his and running his lips over my fingers. They disappear – one by one into his mouth, where his tongue does its job of licking and sucking each one.

"Sorry, what did you say?" I reply, distracted by the sudden rush of pleasure coursing through my hand.

"I need to know if you hate me"

"Yes, I do. Because you're such a damn tease and I hate myself even more for wanting you" I reply, wriggling my fingers free from between his lips and pulling him down for a kiss.

"That's a good enough answer for me" He replies, his breath warm and inviting on my lips

Peeta's hands return to their rightful position on my breasts, starving for pleasure from our little tussle on the kitchen floor last night; and I shudder from pleasure as his fingers caress and stroke each one. I am a mess of contorted, writhing pleasures now – a fire could be raging downstairs and I wouldn't have half a mind to investigate. But after a few minutes of his tender ministrations and my lips' impassionate exhortations against his ears going nowhere, a realisation begins to dawn on me.

_We have no idea what we're doing, but damn, it feels good_

All the nights he's spent in my bed, pretending we weren't just two young souls looking to feel the passion of each other's bodies because of some made-up relationship we're supposed to be having – explains a lot about our cluelessness and inexperience right now. My fingers snake around the base of his neck and I pull his lips lower.

"Kiss me…here"

He complies, and in a moment my back arches and I cry out from the pleasure of feeling his lips on the peaks of my breasts. His tongue follows soon after, my only regret being that he only has one to pleasure me with – while my breasts come in a pair. My hands find their way to his, and I begin guiding them to the most secret place of mine.

"Touch me" I beg, exasperated from the pleasure

"Where?" He whispers against my bosom

"Here"

The touch of his fingers confirms to me how hot and wet I've gotten down there. I have to guide him between my folds, but his fingers – skilful and steady from years of frosting cakes; have a deftness to them that even mine don't. Before long I've left him on his own, unassisted and unguided save for the ever-increasing volume of my moans as he seeks out the place which has never failed to send me into waves of ecstasy. My body begins to take on a mind of its own: legs parting, hips rising, lips crying out indecipherable words, fingers clutching at his hair. He finds an opening, and slips a finger into me, continuing to work away at my outside with his thumb. The shock of his sudden intrusion sends me into a frenzy. It doesn't take long before I am screaming out his name and perspiring from the climax that he's putting me through.

My orgasm takes its time to seep away from every fibre in my muscles that it has pervaded. Something between his legs had aroused curiosity within me ever since I first felt it pressed up against my thigh on a cold night in the train. Now that my body's desires have been partially fulfilled, I allow curiosity to get the better of my fingers and for them to begin seeking him out there. To my surprise, Peeta recoils from me like a frightful prey fleeing from its predator.

"Woh, Katniss! Take it easy!" He exclaims

"Not fair! You got to touch every last bit of me"

"Just…go slowly alright?" He asks with a delicate voice

I undress him gingerly like I did on the river bank so long ago. It's much larger than from what I remember, now that it's swollen with arousal. There is a constant pulsating rhythm that courses through his member, and I can almost hear it throb with desire. A look of fear spreads across his face as I run my fingers along his body down towards it.

"Trust me, alright?" I ask

He clenches his teeth and winces in pain as I touch my fingertips to his shaft. He grabs hold of my other hand and positions my fingernails along his wrist, ordering me a firm voice to clench hard. I stroke my fingertips against his shaft again, digging deep into his wrist with my other hand to keep him focused on the reality of what's happening. This happens over and over again, until I'm confident that he knows it's me wanting to do it to him out of my own desire. His back arches and a sharp cry escapes his lips as I wrap my fingers around his manhood; this time I can hear pleasure mixed in with the pain, and I dig my nails into his now-bloodied wrist one last time.

_Ok, so what do I do now? _

Peeta senses my hesitation and wraps his fingers around mine, guiding me to the right pressure and rhythm. It works; and within minutes he begins to relax and give himself over to the pleasure. I curl up in the comforting embrace of his outstretched arm as my fingers work away at him. He's much harder now, almost as if I'm massaging a stiff oaken bow. I press my ears to his chest, eager to hear the evidence of how much I'm turning him on. To my delight, all I hear is the rapid beat of his heart racing against my ear. He holds me tighter and groans in pleasure. I know he's close now. He whispers into my ear, beckoning me to go faster, to which I gleefully comply.

Peeta buries his face in my braid and gives out a cry of pleasure as he comes hard. He's shaking from the climax, and I hold him tightly against myself in an effort to keep him with me. The first cracks of dawn peer through the window and I can just about make out his emission on my thigh. In the glow of an impending sunrise it looks almost triumphant against my own skin, as warm and messy it is. _I did this, _I thought. _I made this happen like no one else could. _

"I'm sorry" He says, after his pants of ecstasy have subsided. Our lips find one another as rays of sunrise bathe his hair in a golden glow.

"You're mine now" I say, pointing at the line of his fluid on my leg.

"I'll gladly be yours now that I know you're capable of something like that" He comments with a smirk

"Don't get too contented. How about you start by fixing that hole you made in the kitchen floor?" I reply, trailing my fingers around his chin. He catches them and holds my knuckles against his lips.

"We'll do it, you and I. Together, we can fix anything"


End file.
